


Impossible, Unknown, Ideal

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Minor Character Death, Napping, New Year's Resolutions, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Relationships, Sexuality Crisis, Support, Triumvirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: Six months in the lives of Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac.  As they go through distance, loss, confusion, and experience new things, their friendship stays the most important thing throughout.





	Impossible, Unknown, Ideal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [courfee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/courfee/gifts).



> Title comes from:  
> “The future has several names. For the weak, it is impossible; for the fainthearted, it is unknown; but for the valiant, it is ideal.”  
> ― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
> 
> I wrote this for my friend Franka, and for Franka's friends, all of whom are desperate for a fic about the triumvirate's friendship, and just for platonic fic writing in general! This is for you guys!
> 
> I'm such a romantic I thought I would struggle a lot more with this. It was a good writing exercise. I hope you like it.

Enjolras feels that familiar rush of happiness as the Skype call tone rings out into his room, pleased both at the prospect of talking to his best friends, but also that they’re on time. Well, Courfeyrac is, since that’s who’s calling. Combeferre no doubt is running late, as per usual.

He clicks the accept button and watches Courfeyrac’s face break into a grin at the sight of him.

“Hi!” Courfeyrac yells. He’s got his headphones in, staring down his webcam which reveals a backdrop of a busy street café. “Sorry I’m late, I realised I wasn’t going to make it home in time so I had to find an internet café!”

Enjolras smiles. “You’re not late. _Combeferre’s_ late; you’re right on time.”

“Oh good,” Courfeyrac says, looking proud of himself. He settles himself back a little in his outdoor seat, hand curling around a takeaway cup. His nails are painted pink, yellow and blue, small pan-pride flags shining brightly, painted pristinely.

“Nice nails,” Enjolras says.

“Thanks!” Courfeyrac says, lifting them up to inspect them himself. “Jehan did them – I told you about Jehan, right?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras says. “So why were you out?” Enjolras asks.

“I was on a _date_ ,” Courfeyrac says, grinning wickedly. “A _romantic_ date,” he clarifies, raising his eyebrows, just begging Enjolras to ask.

Enjolras blinks in surprise. “Oh! Oh, how did that go?” he asks, more than a little confused.

Courfeyrac laughs and shrugs. “Badly. I’m trying to work out where my romantic feelings even come from. So long I.D.ing as aro, you know?”

Enjolras shakes his head, bewildered. “I didn’t even know you were… reconsidering.”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras smiles. “You’ll figure it out, I’m sure. Try adding Ferre, he might be around.”

Waiting, Enjolras pulls his pillow closer to him, cuddling it as he sits on his bed, staring down at his laptop. He’s bitterly jealous of the sun shining down on Courfeyrac, desperate to be back in Paris, away from England and all its terrible weather. Sitting on his bed, he can glance out the window and see torrential rain, even at the end of June. It’s forecast to thunder.

Still, talking to Combeferre and Courfeyrac every other day helps, and he knows rationally that it’s not long til he can fly home.

“Hello, sorry I’m late,” Combeferre says as he joins the call.

“You say that every time,” Courfeyrac says, laughing.

“I got distracted,” Combeferre attempts to excuse himself.

“You say _that_ every time, too,” Enjolras chimes in. “It’s good to see you. How’s your mother doing?”

“She’s doing better. It’s good for her to be back in Germany. I made the right choice helping her come back out here. France was never for her,” Combeferre adds, smiling, though it breaks Enjolras’ heart that even if France wasn’t for his mother, Combeferre was _born_ to live in Paris.

“Well, I miss you,” Courfeyrac says. “I miss you _both_! How did my two favourite people move away at the _same time_ , leaving little old me alone in Paris?”

“You’re not alone!” Enjolras protests. “All our friends are still there, and you keep making new ones. You’re fine.”

Courfeyrac rolls his eyes. “Let me show affection, Enjolras!”

Enjolras laughs. “Okay, I miss you, too.”

“I know you do,” Courfeyrac says. He winks at Enjolras, and Enjolras chuckles. “So Combeferre! Let me tell you about the date I just went on!”

“A _date_?” Combeferre squawks, and so it goes on.

It’s the best part of Enjolras’ day, every day. He misses his friends like crazy and all but lives for their Skype calls. It’s the only time of day he can forget that he’s hundreds of miles from them both; in a country he doesn’t know at all.

He laughs along as Courfeyrac dramatically recounts the tale of his romantic entanglement with a guy he met on tinder.

It’s perfect, even with the wind and rain rattling the windows of his rented apartment and the slow seeping loneliness of not having hugged someone in over a fortnight. It’s perfect.

 

Courfeyrac’s phone pings with the reminder that he promised to call Enjolras in fifteen minutes time. “Oops!” he exclaims and pulls away from the guy hanging off his shoulders. He kisses him quickly. “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go. I made arrangements with a friend, I completely forgot.”

The guy looks disappointed but lets him go easily, and Courfeyrac’s a little disappointed too. Still, as soon as he’s got Skype open on his phone and sees Enjolras sitting there, he feels so warm inside that he doesn’t regret leaving that guy at all.

“So, what’s on the itinerary today, boss?” Courfeyrac asks.

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but then he picks up his notepad to tell Courfeyrac, so Courfeyrac feels a little justified in the snarky comment. Courfeyrac’s in charge of the ABC while Enjolras is away but Enjolras, naturally, still wants to be as involved as he can be from two hundred miles away. Courfeyrac lets him have these Skype calls to give instructions and be told what’s going on and to help out as much as he can.

After they’ve sorted business out though, they call Combeferre and get him in on the call to hang out, just the three of them. It’s weird not having Combeferre be a part of meetings and organisation, but the three of them agreed that while Combeferre is solely responsible for looking after his ill mother, he’d stay out of any planning.

It’s not easy on any of them.

“I can’t believe I fly back in two days,” Enjolras says. “I feel like I’ve been here forever, but now that it’s almost over, I don’t want to leave at all.”

“You’ll forget all about dusty old England as soon as you see me, of course!” Courfeyrac says.

Combeferre barks out a laugh. “The only benefit to returning to Paris is you of course, Courf.”

“Well, obviously!” Courfeyrac says, as if he can’t imagine there would be any reason to go to Paris ever other than to see him. “I’m the main attraction.”

“You sure are something,” Combeferre says. He looks away from his screen, face clouding. “I gotta go. Text me plans for the next Skype call.”

“Is everything-?” Enjolras starts to ask, breaking off when Combeferre ends the call on his end. Enjolras and Courfeyrac share a look.

“You don’t think we should go out there, do you?” Courfeyrac asks.

“I don’t want to put any more pressure on him. We’d probably be a hindrance than a help,” Enjolras points out.

“I hate to think of him struggling alone,” Courfeyrac says, brows knitting together.

“Me, too,” Enjolras admits. “She’ll get better.”

“Yeah…” Courfeyrac says. “Yeah, of course.”

They fall silent for a moment, all the unspoken things hanging in the air.

“I should go,” Enjolras says, quietly.

“Yeah, all right,” Courfeyrac says. “Love you.”

“Love you, too. See you soon.”

Courfeyrac smiles, tinged with sadness. “Can’t wait,” he says.

Courfeyrac is the one who hangs up, Enjolras unable to do anything but stare straight at Courfeyrac, mind turning, thinking of everything that Combeferre’s going through alone.

 

Combeferre opens up Whatsapp and stares at Enjolras’ chat for a long moment, before he starts to type. He types out three messages about how he feels and deletes them all.

In the end all he sends is ‘ _Have a safe flight._ ’

 

“ENJOLRAS!” Courfeyrac screams, and then he’s running towards his best friend, and launching himself into Enjolras’ waiting arms, so enthusiastically it knocks Enjolras back a few steps and they stumble together, trying desperately to stay on their feet.

“Hi,” Enjolras says, laughing, hugging Courfeyrac fiercely.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much!” Courfeyrac cries, before pulling back to pepper Enjolras’ face with kisses.

Enjolras laughs, and pulls back glancing at the person he’d been standing next to when Courfeyrac spotted him.

“Oh!” Courfeyrac says, when he sees the person hovering. “Sorry, where you guys talking?”

“No, it’s all right-” the person starts.

“Yes,” Enjolras interrupts. “Courfeyrac, this is Grantaire. I met him on the plane. He lives here.” He turns back to Grantaire. “Can I… give you my number?” he asks.

“Yes! Um, yes. I would like that. Thank you,” Grantaire says, and he thrusts his phone towards Enjolras to let him put his number in.

A grin is spreading over Courfeyrac’s face, and he’s bouncing up and down a little in his excitement. He just manages to contain himself long enough for Enjolras and Grantaire to awkwardly dance around a goodbye and for Grantaire to disappear into the crowds before he lets out a screech.

“That was a guy! A hot guy! Who really wanted your number!” he exclaims, dancing up and down, grabbing at Enjolras’ arm.

Enjolras laughs, so delighted to be back with Courfeyrac. “Yes it was,” he agrees. “Hopefully he’ll text soon.”

“This is so exciting! We have to call Combeferre! Germany’s really keeping him out of the loop, huh? He should be here! Experiencing your flirting first hand!” Courfeyrac teases, with absolutely no malice whatsoever.

“Flirting,” Enjolras echoes, laughing. “That wasn’t flirting, you _missed_ all the flirting. That happened _on_ the plane.”

Courfeyrac can’t stop grinning. He’s looking at Enjolras in the flesh, right here in Paris. “I’m _so glad you’re back_!” he tells Enjolras.

Enjolras laughs and throws an arm around him, guiding them towards the exit. “Me, too, buddy.”

“Oh my God, I have to introduce you to the new friends we made! You’re going to love Jehan! And you can meet Joly and Bossuet’s new girlfriend! She’s incredible! And Bahorel and Feuilly got together! They act no differently around each other. Cosette and I have a bet going about when they’re going to kiss in front of us for the first time. It’s getting a bit ridiculous, because we both keep picking pretty close dates and they keep going past them. You gotta talk some sense into them, Enj…”

 

Enjolras sits in the Musain, fingers curled around a beer, happy and content, fully, for the first time since he left. The only thing missing is Combeferre, and at this point he’ll take it. He’s missed his friends so damn much.

When he arrived earlier in the evening, the enthusiastic greeting he received almost made him cry, wrapped in one of Bahorel’s bear hugs, the voices of his friends all ardently welcoming him home… It was a lot.

Courfeyrac spots him sitting alone and comes over. Instead of sitting on any of the empty chairs by Enjolras, he flops down onto Enjolras’ knee and wraps an arm around his neck to keep his balance. He kisses the space between Enjolras’ eyes, just above the bridge of his nose. His breath smells like beer and his smile is wide and beautiful.

Enjolras puts his arm around Courfeyrac’s waist and hitches him closer, keeping him from sliding off his knee. “Hello,” he says, warmly.

“Welcome home,” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras chuckles. “Thank you.”

 

Courfeyrac gets the call at eleven thirty at night. His jaw tightens when he sees Combeferre’s name on the screen, and he knows. The silence when he picks up is even more telling.

After a moment, Combeferre clears his throat. “It’s over,” he says. His voice is rough, almost hoarse. “She’s dead.”

Courfeyrac doesn’t know what to say. “Come home to us, Ferre,” he says eventually.

“The funeral’s tomorrow,” Combeferre says. “Small event.”

“I’ll come,” Courfeyrac says.

“Don’t,” Combeferre replies. “I’ll fly home the next day. I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up.

Courfeyrac sits there for a moment, staring down at the phone in his hands. He texts Combeferre to remind him that he loves him. He doesn’t get a response, but that’s all right.

Courfeyrac slowly gets up and walks through to Enjolras’ room. Enjolras looks up from the book he’s reading, and his expression hardens when he sees Courfeyrac.

“She’s gone,” Enjolras guesses.

Courfeyrac nods, silently.

Enjolras puts his book down and lifts the covers on his bed, welcoming Courfeyrac in. They curl up together, both pretending that Combeferre is here with all their might.

“He’ll be all right,” Enjolras says. “He’s tough, our Combeferre.”

“He told me not to come to the funeral,” Courfeyrac says. “He _needs_ us.”

“He’ll take our help when he’s good and ready. Let him come to us for comfort. There’s nothing good about suffocating a grieving man,” Enjolras says.

In his mind, Courfeyrac knows that’s true, but his heart and soul wants to fly to Combeferre this second and to hold him tight, protecting him from the pain in the world. He makes do with clinging to Enjolras.

 

It’s hard when Combeferre comes back. What should be a joyful reunion of three best friends is horribly subdued. Combeferre is stony-faced and largely unresponsive in the aftermath of his mother’s funeral.

It’s hard to talk to him, and Enjolras and Courfeyrac share looks and whispered conversations and their worries for their friend.

Enjolras stands with his back against the wall outside Combeferre’s door, working up the energy he needs to face his heart-broken friend.

He forces a smile onto his face and sticks his head round Combeferre’s door. “Cuppa?” he asks, injecting brightness into his tone.

“ _Please_ ,” Combeferre says, looking up from his laptop.

Enjolras gives up on cheeriness at the sight of his exhausted friend.

“You all right?” Enjolras asks, crossing the room. He rests his arms on Combeferre’s shoulders, peering down at what he’s doing. His heart sinks as he sees the photo album of Combeferre’s last holiday with his mum. “Oh, Ferre,” Enjolras says.

“I know,” Combeferre says.

Enjolras sighs. “No, it’s… God, I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of Combeferre’s head, squeezing his eyes shut, heart aching for his friend.

“It’s fine,” Combeferre says. “It was a long time coming.”

Enjolras presses his forehead to the top of his head. “I love you so much. I’m here for you. Anything you need, Ferre. Anything at all. You just gotta ask.”

Combeferre lifts his head a little, and Enjolras follows his gaze, seeing him look out the window and up at the sky. His clearly fighting not to cry, probably knowing that if he starts, he’ll never stop. “Can we go make that cup of tea?” Combeferre asks.

“Of course,” Enjolras says, gently. He reaches out to take Combeferre’s hand, and together they make it through to the kitchen.

The kettle bubbles and boils away on the counter as the two friends stand quietly in the kitchen.

“Where’s Courf?” Combeferre asks after a while, when Enjolras is stirring the milk in.

“Out with Jehan,” Enjolras says. “I can text him if you want. You know he’d come back in a heartbeat.”

“I don’t want to spoil-”

“He can hang out with Jehan any time. You need him right now,” Enjolras says, firmly, pulling out his phone.

Combeferre doesn’t argue, and Enjolras knows he was right to push for it when the three of them are piled up on the sofa watching TV. Courfeyrac steals Combeferre’s giant blanket from his room and buries them with it and they flick through Netflix until they find a gay film they all feel like watching. As gay films go, _Last Man Out_ is good and comes with a happy ending, and Enjolras adds it to his list after they’ve finished.  

Enjolras turns his head lazily and sees Courfeyrac press a kiss to the side of Combeferre’s face, and another, closer to his nose. Combeferre shuts his eyes, looking pained and sad, and leans into the kisses.

His face twists with unshed tears. “I miss her so much,” Combeferre says. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” His voice is thick with emotion, and Enjolras swears he would tear out his own heart for Combeferre to not have to feel this way.

Enjolras has never had a relationship anything like the one Combeferre had with his mother. The unconditional love between that mother and child was unlike anything Enjolras had seen before he met Combeferre. He didn’t know parents and kids could actually get along like they do in the movies. Combeferre’s mum would have moved mountains, fought bears, flown to the moon, to help her son. Combeferre would do the same for her.

And now she’s gone.

Finally, Combeferre starts to cry. It’s the first time since she died, and Enjolras feels no shame in the fact that it sets him crying too. He meets Courfeyrac’s eyes, both of them teary and miserable in the face of Combeferre’s despair. They cling to him tightly, trying to give him all the love they can, even though they know that no amount of love right now is going to fix that terrible hole in Combeferre’s heart.

 

Courfeyrac and Combeferre wake up next to each other. Wrapped up in each other.

Combeferre smiles. It feels good.

 

“You’ve got flour on your face,” Combeferre says.

Enjolras looks up, flustered. “I’m trying to bake blueberry muffins,” he explains himself.

“Why?” Combeferre asks.

“Because… Because Grantaire likes blueberry muffins.” Enjolras shrugs, helplessly, glancing at the recipe book with a look of despair.

“Grantaire likes blueberry muffins,” Combeferre echoes.

Enjolras nods. “I wanted to do something nice for him,” he explains.

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “And how’s that going?” he asks, but he can see exactly how that’s going.

“Terribly,” Enjolras says.

Combeferre chuckles. “Does Grantaire bake?” he asks.

“Yes. He’s brilliant,” Enjolras says.

Combeferre breathes in deeply and rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should call your baking boyfriend and ask him to come _help_ you make blueberry muffins,” Combeferre suggests.

“That’s… probably a very good idea,” Enjolras says, brightening up.

Combeferre grins. “I have a lot of those. I’ll clear out and let you have the flat.”

Enjolras shoots him a grateful look. “Thank you,” he says, tone overly sincere. “I’m awful at this dating thing.”

“I know,” Combeferre says. “Maybe wash your face before he gets here. Or don’t. He might think it’s cute.”

Enjolras flushes. “He probably would,” he admits.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Combeferre says, and hates it when Enjolras’ face falls.

“I am happy,” Enjolras says. “I wish you were, too.”

Combeferre looks at his best friend, wonderfully flustered in the face of being in love for the first time, and says, “I’m happy enough.”

 

As soon as a protest starts, Courfeyrac is a different person. He’s not the soft, worried friend anymore. His passion for saving people becomes a solid will to fight; his fear for the state of the world transforms him. He takes the vibrant anger of Enjolras, and the cool logic of Combeferre, and his gentleness disappears until he needs it.

Because of this, when he looks at Enjolras, and says, “You’re bleeding,” with very little emotion, Enjolras knows that it isn’t because Courfeyrac _doesn’t_ care, but that he cares too much about far more important things right now, and he must be all right, because Courfeyrac has a knack for taking in an injury in this setting and knowing immediately whether it’s important or manageable.

“Where?” Enjolras asks.

Courfeyrac reaches out and his fingers brush over the wound on his arm. “Here,” he says. His eyes are dark and wide, and he takes in everything.

Enjolras looks down. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Yes,” Courfeyrac says. “Come on,” he then says, and disappears back into the crowd.

Enjolras loves Courfeyrac madly on days where they fight for the good of the world. And every other day, too, of course.

 

Courfeyrac is drunk and happy. Enjolras is flushed and beautiful. Combeferre is ever-wise and loose. Mouths are warm and skin is smooth. Life is short and friendship is everything. Everything is wonderful.

 

Combeferre taps Courfeyrac on the shoulder. “Time to take a break, buddy,” he says.

Courfeyrac looks up, irritated. “Not yet, I’ve only been working for…”

“Four hours,” Combeferre fills in and watches the surprise spread across Courfeyrac’s face.

“Oh,” Courfeyrac says. “All right then.”

Combeferre laughs and ushers Courfeyrac away from his desk and out of his room back into the real world.

 

It brings Courfeyrac infinite joy to see Enjolras and Grantaire talking quietly to each other, soft smiles adorning their faces, in the middle of a coffee date. It also makes him ache a little. It’s not mutually exclusive.

His own feelings towards romance get more and more complicated every day, and it doesn’t exactly help seeing his best friend so desperately in love. He’s talked it to death with Combeferre and Enjolras and yet it doesn’t seem to make any more sense.

He tears his gaze away from Enjolras and Grantaire, allowing them their privacy, but it’s hard not to look. There’s something so open in the way they look at each other, and Courfeyrac _craves_ it.

Combeferre walks into the Musain, with Bossuet, Marius, and Jehan by his side, all three talking away. A warm feeling settles in his chest at the sight of his friends and he lifts a hand in greeting, waving them all over to him. Surrounded by his friends, it makes him feel better about the fact that Enjolras and Grantaire are sitting nearby, besotted.

He just wishes it were so easy for him.

 

 Enjolras finds Combeferre staring out the open window at the snowless street. His heart aches at the sight of his melancholic friend and he picks up the blanket on the sofa as he crosses the room to him.

Folding the blanket around Combeferre’s shoulders, Enjolras hugs his friend. “Nothing like the Christmas you get in Germany, huh?”

Combeferre looks up at him sadly. He shakes his head, pinching his lips together as he fights back a sudden onslaught of tears. “I real- really miss her,” he says, voice cracking.

Enjolras nods, face creased with sadness. He kisses the side of Combeferre’s nose and then presses their foreheads together.

Their bodies move as Combeferre gasps in an upset breath. “I’m… How do people move on? How do people just get on with their lives?”

Enjolras shakes his head, not knowing the answer. “I don’t know, Ferre. I guess… You just have to.”

“I don’t think I can,” Combeferre says. “I miss her so much. I feel so empty, but it’s so heavy. It’s such a heavy emptiness. It’s so physical.”

“I’ve never mourned anyone like that,” Enjolras says. He strokes Combeferre’s hair back from his face. “Just… Remember that it means you love her. That love brought you so much happiness, and if this is the price you pay, maybe it’s worth it.”

Combeferre’s gaze returns back to the window, but Enjolras isn’t sure he’s really looking at much. “Maybe,” Combeferre echoes. “Would you mind sitting here with me?”

“I-” Enjolras starts. “No. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

When he’s sure Combeferre’s paying more attention to his own thoughts than to him, Enjolras pulls out his phone and texts Grantaire that he’s sorry, but Combeferre needs him.  It’s hard but Combeferre right now comes first.

 

“Would it be the worst idea in the world if I asked out one of our friends?” Courfeyrac asks, completely unprompted.

Enjolras rolls over and looks at him for a long second. “Depends,” he says, and punches Combeferre to wake him up. “Weigh in on this.”

Combeferre groans loudly. “Let me sleep, asshole,” he complains.

“You were the one who wanted to nap together,” Enjolras says. “This is what you get.”

“ _Nap_ ,” Combeferre repeats, forcefully.

“Who are you asking?” Enjolras asks.

“Je…han?” Courfeyrac admits, hesitantly.

“Do you have romantic feelings for him?” Enjolras asks.

Courfeyrac sighs. “Maybe?”

“Maybe you should decide before you make any moves,” Enjolras suggests.

“Or just make it clear with him what the situation is,” Combeferre adds, giving in and weighing in. “He’s your friend. He knows you thought you were aro for a long time, I’m sure he’d be understanding.”

“There’s understanding and then there’s letting himself be open to get hurt when you date him only to realise that you really are aro,” Enjolras points out.

“Harsh,” Combeferre says.

“Fair,” Courfeyrac corrects. “I just don’t _know_.”

“Talk to Jehan,” Combeferre says. “And let me nap.”

Enjolras chuckles and buries his face in Combeferre’s side. “Let’s nap. You good, Courf?”

“I’m good,” Courfeyrac replies. “Nap time.”

“It was nap time twenty minutes ago,” Combeferre says.

“Love you,” Courfeyrac says.

“Love you, too,” Combeferre answers.

Enjolras just wriggles down in between them both, smiling contentedly.

 

A flute of champagne is pressed into his hand the second he walks through the door. It’s unnecessarily fancy, and also the only fancy thing about the event. He can see the bottles of vodka and the shot glasses from the doorway.

“Glad to see we’re honouring the tradition of refusing to stop being students,” Combeferre comments as he attempts to shrug out of his coat while not spilling any champagne on the floor.

Courfeyrac laughs. “You know you’ll be doing shots within two hours. That’s a Courfeyrac Guarantee.”

“Capital letters?” Combeferre asks, raising an eyebrow.

Courfeyrac claps a hand over his heart. “Of course!”

Combeferre laughs and takes a sip of his champagne.

The New Year’s Party is a time-honoured tradition in their group, and as always, it’s a complete mess, everyone getting beyond drunk and utterly sloppy. The clean-up is always hell.

Combeferre kind of loves it though. Everyone sticks around to help tidy up, and the combination of the hangover and the shame and the good-humour of a party well-done makes for a great day of hanging out with friends. He loves the teasing he gets off his friends for spending over half an hour making out with Bahorel, loves mocking Courfeyrac for throwing up before midnight even hit, loves laughing at the way Enjolras, Jehan, Grantaire and Cosette always insist on wearing sunglasses as they tidy up.

He loves his friends.

And when the others start to depart, and he’s left alone with his two best friends as they settle in for a long evening of drinking water and complaining about how stupid their past selves are, he’s filled with such excitement for the year ahead.

“Any resolutions?” Enjolras asks, head resting on Combeferre’s shoulder as they watch _Master of None_ on  _Netflix_. 

“Write another book,” Combeferre says.

“Hmm? ‘bout what?” Enjolras asks.

“Moths,” Combeferre answers, seriously.

“Oh, shut up,” Enjolras says, shoving him gently.

“Nah… I was thinking I’d write about grief. Not a professional help book, just a book of observations and thoughts. Maybe I can help someone cathart.”

“Cathart is not a word,” Enjolras says.

“Catharsise?” Courfeyrac suggests.

“Maybe,” Combeferre says.

“It would be good for you as well. Help you process,” Enjolras says.

“Help you cathart,” Courfeyrac adds.

The three are silent for a second before bursting into giggles.

“I’m going to ask Grantaire to move in with me,” Enjolras says.

“Big step,” Combeferre says.

“We’re ready,” Enjolras says. “I love him.”

“You only met him six months ago,” Courfeyrac points out.

“I know,” Enjolras says, smiling.

Courfeyrac shifts where he’s sprawled across the two of them. “I’m going to ask Jehan out,” he says. “I’ve… been doing a lot of self-analysis. Writing all my thoughts down, documenting my feelings. I like him. Romantically.”

“You sure?” Combeferre asks.

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac admits. “And he’s been helping me so much with my exploration of my feelings, trying to work out where they come from. It’s friendship, a good strong friendship, as a baseline. That was my problem. I kept projecting feelings onto people I’d only just met, expecting it to work, and trying to force the feelings, but I realised it wasn’t going to. Obviously if I dated someone for long enough, accepting the fact that the real feelings were going to come later, I could… But I like Jehan.”

“That’s amazing, Courf,” Enjolras says, ruffling his hair.

“Jehan knows everything too. We’ve actually talked about it all. He’s said that I never need to be afraid to tell him if it turns out I was wrong, but that he wants to go for it if I do too,” Courfeyrac says. “I haven’t got back to him yet, but I’m going to. I’m going to ask him on a date.”

“I’m proud of you,” Combeferre says. “I’m proud of all of us.”

Enjolras laughs, easily. “Here’s to the next year and all the pain and happiness it may bring us.”

Courfeyrac lifts his head and squints at him. “Did you steal that from a film?”

“No!” Enjolras bursts out, laughing. “I’m a speech maker, I know how to sound cheesy.”

“Cause that shit was cheesy,” Courfeyrac says. “Fucking gouda.”

“I thought it was more of a parmesan,” Combeferre says, thoughtfully.

“Shut up,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes. Then adds, “Clearly it was camembert.”

Courfeyrac snorts. “I hate us.”

Combeferre and Enjolras laugh.

Courfeyrac shushes them. “I’m trying to watch this,” he says, and Combeferre and Enjolras exchange a look before falling silent, all cuddled up on the sofa, ready for the year ahead. Because they have each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts! Or come chat on @wonderfeuilly on twitter or nerds-are-cool on tumblr!   
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)
> 
> thanks Franka for being great. courfee on tumblr. check her out. she's awesome.


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